


Evenfall

by Aviss



Series: Spies Like Us [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brienne as Bond, F/M, Jaime as Q, Mission Fic, and the mission is based in Skyfall, be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-08 22:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: Jaime had never intended to get back to active duty, he was happily retired. Now he has no choice, someone has to pay for taking her from him.The day I believe you intend to stay home and cry for your wife instead of going out there to avenge her, is the day I retire as well.For JB Week day 2, prompt summer/heat





	1. Heat

**Author's Note:**

> I have a confession to make. This one was originally what I wanted to write for the Bond AU, but I got distracted making them happy before I could get to the angst. Usual warnings in the end notes. 
> 
> For the prompt Summer/heat of JB Week day 2

Jaime's office is packed to the rafters with anxious people, their nervousness feeding back to his own and making him feel like he could crawl out of his skin. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the scene on his monitors, the cameras of the Raven satellite following the progress of Brienne down a street market in Braavos, her bike speeding after that of her target, skilfully avoiding pedestrians and stalls alike. 

Right behind her, driving like a madwoman in an SUV too big for the tiny streets is Margaery, and next to Jaime, practically vibrating out of her skin is Olenna, who had opposed the involvement of her 'secretary' in this mission at first but had somehow let herself be convinced she needs the field experience. She seems to be regretting it now, not that Jaime can blame her. He'd much rather had Brienne anywhere but there as well.

This is the most important missions they've had in years. And the most dangerous. 

They have already lost an operative today; when Brienne and Marg had arrived at the safehouse only to find Varys swiftly bleeding to death, and the disk with the data he was safekeeping gone. They had been in time to see Varys's assailant and set in pursuit, Brienne running after him while Marg called an ambulance, useless as the gesture had turned out to be since Varys was dead before Marg had reached the ground floor. 

"I have visual," Margaery's voice reached them through the comm, which Jaime has on speaker so everyone can hear. "Agent Tarth is gaining on the target."

His office is sweltering now, the summer's heat combined with all the people inside making it unbearably hot. Nobody wants to miss this one, and even when Jaime can feel the sweat running down his back and sticking to his shirt, he doesn't have the heart to turn anyone away. There is too much at stake here. 

"Can you reach them, Agent T?" Olenna asks, her voice as stern as ever and Jaime has to bit down on a smile. As if her not calling Margaery by her name would prevent him from knowing who she really is. She forgets they've known each other for way too long.

"Not from here, no."

"Stark, pull up a map," Jaime asks, a map of the area where the chase is happening coming up on his right monitor, two little dots marking the location of his agents. It takes Jaime a moment to realize where they're going, and sees the same on Olenna's face. "Tarth, there is a train track half a mile ahead of you," another map comes over the first one, a moving line on it. "A train is approaching, your mark is heading straight to it."

"Copy that, J," Brienne says, and she sounds so certain and unruffled that it does wonders for Jaime's confidence. If there is one person who can do this, it's definitely her. 

Olenna turns to him with a pinched expression. "What are the chances that the exchange is going to be done in that train." Considering the way their target is moving towards it and the sensitivity of the data, chances are more than good. "That can't be allowed. Agent T, find higher ground, the target can't be permitted to get inside the train."

"Copy that, Lady O."

On the live feed, the bikes are out of the market and running towards the train tracks at top speed, the mark turns occasionally to shoot at Brienne, but it's hard to aim and drive a bike at the same time, and any attempt is little more than a waste of bullets. Brienne doesn't even bother. The SUV has peeled off in a different direction, just a few keystrokes have another feed following Marg's progress up a small hill overlooking the tracks. There is a bridge crossing a river not too far ahead, and then the train will disappear inside a tunnel. If that happens, they will have lost the disk, and it contains too much critical information, not only about their agents but also about their allies, for them to afford to lose it. 

"The target is about to board the train, still in pursuit," Brienne's voice comes clear through the speakers. Jaime is riveted on the screen, his eyes glued to it afraid he will miss some important detail in case he even blinks. 

The target jumps on the train, grabbing one of the rungs of the stairs right at the end of the last carriage and climbing up to the top. Brienne accelerates her bike and does the same, gracefully jumping and grabbing on the stairs, following her target. 

On the other screen, Marg is climbing down her car with a high powered rifle in her hand and finding the best vantage point. When she finds it, she props the riffle and lays down on her front. Jaime can see her taking deep breaths, centring herself the way her grandma probably taught her. "I have visual," her voice comes over the speaker. 

"Hold position," Jaime orders. On the roof of the train, Brienne has engaged her target in hand to hand combat. He's very good, Jaime can tell by the way he moves and blocks Brienne's hits, never losing his footing or balance even with the train moving at a speed. Brienne is also very good, and she appears to be at least ten years younger, if no more, than her opponent.

Watching her fight is one of Jaime's favourite activities, that and sparring with her, but not under these circumstances and when he's too far away to assist her should she need it. He knows every single motion of her body and how much power those kicks and punches pack, and sees that they are too evenly matched and the tunnel is quickly approaching. 

"Agent T, do you have a shot?" Olenna asks, realizing the same, her voice taut. 

Silence, only broken by the breathing of their agents on the line, stretches for an eternity. "Not a clean one," Marg finally says, and she sounds frustrated. 

"Hold position," Olenna orders her. They're running out of time and everyone in the room knows it. 

On the train roof, Brienne is still fighting the man, who has just unsheathed a knife from somewhere in his person and it's all she can do to keep him from stabbing her. She kicks him as soon as he gives her an opening, and grabs her gun from her holster, aiming at him. The target is fast, lunging with the knife and managing a hit, not critical but it makes Brienne drop her gun. He kicks it off the roof and lunges again, and Brienne falls backwards to avoid a hit. The train is over the water now, they have just a few more seconds. 

"Agent T, do you have the shot?" Olenna is asking, as Brienne springs to her feet and chases after the man, who has turned to run.

"No."

"Is there another position you can take?" Jaime asks, Brienne has engaged the target again, and they are fighting with the desperation of people who know they are running out of time. 

"Negative." Marg's frustration is mounting, the same as the tension inside Jaime's office, where it's almost impossible to breathe now. 

The target pushes Brienne back, they are twisting and hitting each other, Jaime can see where the knife has at least graced Brienne a couple of times, and suddenly his stomach is in knots, his flesh hand clenched tight because he has a bad feeling. He has the mother of all bad feelings, and he can't breathe. 

"Take the shot, Agent T," Olenna says, her voice quiet and terrible.

"It's not clean," Marg says, urgency in her voice. "I repeat, negative. Agent Tarth is in the way."

Jaime risks a quick look at Olenna and what he sees on her face is enough to make his heart sink. "We can't risk that disk falling on the wrong hands, Agent T, take the Godsdamned shot!"

There is a collective intake of breath just as Jaime turns back to the monitor, the loud sound on the high calibre gunshot reverberating in the room. On the train roof, Brienne stumbles, a crimson bloom spreading over her chest. She's too far for Jaime to see her face, but he can perfectly picture the disbelief on her beautiful eyes, the way her mouth will open in an O of surprise. Almost in slow motion, Jaime sees her leg give, her body tipping to the side oh so slowly, before it tumbles down and disappears from view in under a second, their target taking the chance to disappear between two carriages.

There is a moment of incredulity, a silence so profound Jaime wouldn't be surprised to find out he's gone deaf, and then Marg's voice, shocked and estrangled. 

"Agent down, I repeat, _Agent Tarth is down._"

Jaime stands up as in a dream and punches his monitor with his mechanical hand, sparks fly, the glass cracking and flying everywhere. He hears voices but can't understand what they're saying, as if they're speaking a High Valyrian, feels a hand touching his shoulder and lashes out blindly, not knowing and not caring who he has just hit. He turns to Olenna, who is staring at him with the same terrible expression on her face as before. It looks like pity.

She nods once, holding her hands to stop the people around them approaching, and Jaime punches her square in the face. She stumbles back but doesn't fall, a trickle of blood on the corner of her mouth.

"Consider that my resignation," he says, his voice like nothing he's heard before. 

He leaves his office without looking back.

"_Let him go_," he hears Olenna says. "Stark, begin the procedure to retrieve Agent Tarth's body. Someone find Tyrion Lannister and get him to go to his brother's house. Payne you're in charge of the Quartermaster section until such time as Lannister returns to duty or is killed, get Agent T back to King's Landing as soon as possible, we need to start recalling all agents undercover--"

Jaime gets into the lift and the closing doors cut off all sound. He's completely numb as he goes to his house, moving on autopilot as he hails a cab, and then as he goes up the lift and finally gets on his bed, Honor and Glory running into the room and curling around him, no doubt feeling there is something wrong. 

Jaime hugs them to his chest, burying his face on Honor's fur and breathing him in, completely ignoring the tears running down his face. 

He closes his eyes and thinks of Brienne how she was when they said goodbye a week ago, smiling exasperatedly before she kissed him, deep and sweet and too brief. 

If Jaime had known it would be their last kiss, he would have made it last.

…

Gynaris's fishing boat isn't big or new or fast, but it's reliable. 

She has been fishing on it up and down this damned river for twenty years, and she has seen everything trapped in her nets, from the carcass of what looked like a dragon to a whole washing machine something threw to the river. 

Very few things surprise Gynaris anymore. 

The large blond woman dressed in the Westerosi style that she has just fished out of the water is one of those few things. And the most surprising of all that, she appears to be breathing in spite of the bleeding wound on her chest. 

Gynaris hauls her up her boat before shouting for help, her son running towards her. 

"Get me the first aid kit and get the boat around, we're sailing back to port," she says, feeling for a pulse on the woman's neck and feeling a very faint one. 

"Who's that?" her son asks, suspicion in his voice. 

"Who cares? Someone who needs help, now bring me that damned kit!"

Her son scrambles to obey while Gynaris divest the woman of her top. She has some bruises and scratches, but that is not worrying, the wound on her chest is. It appears to have missed her lungs since Gynaris can't hear anything strange when she leans down, her ear against the woman's chest, but it's still bleeding sluggishly and the woman is too pale to afford losing more blood. It looks like a bullet hole, not that she has seen many of those, but it makes her wonder whether it would be better to drop this woman overboard and pretend she never saw her. 

It isn't who she is, though. It has never been. 

"What's taking so long with that kit?" she shouts, pulling up her sleeves and getting ready to save this woman's life.

For better or worse.

…


	2. The Longest Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For JB Week day 3 - summer solstice/the longest day

When Jaime wakes up he knows he's not alone in his room. 

He smiles, feeling his heart expand. "Brienne," he mumbles, lifting his head from the pillow. It feels very heavy and stuffed with cotton, as if he's coming down with a cold, and he has a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had a weird dream, in which Brienne was gone and nothing made sense anymore. "_Wench, come back to bed_."

Honor meows impatiently and Jaime opens his eyes, the smile vanishing from his face as if it never was there. Reality crashes on him, flattens him on the bed with stinging eyes and choked breaths. 

Brienne is really gone. Nothing makes sense. 

He looks at the intruder in his room, Olenna Tyrel finally looks every single one of her million years, the bruise on her jaw a stark contrast with the paleness of her parchment thin skin and the shadows under her eyes. This time he has no problem deciphering the look on her face, it's grief and anger.

"Get up," she says, stern and yet strangely gentle for her. "_You have work to do._"

Jaime says nothing but gets up from the bed, completely unconcerned with his state of undress. Olenna has seen all of him plenty of times, and some of them less dignified than this. 

"I quit, remember?" he says, pulling some pants from a drawer and putting them on. He heads to the kitchen next and considers whether to make himself some coffee or open the whiskey bottle. He compromises, he starts the coffee machine and makes himself an espresso as strong as he dares. He pours a healthy measure of whiskey in the cup. 

When he turns, Olenna is there looking at him with a pinched expression, she has a folder in her hands.

"This is all the information we had previous to the mission, you know it because you collated most of it," she makes herself a cup of coffee with the ease of someone who never waits for an invitation or an offer, and grabs the whiskey from the counter when she's done, doctoring her drink in the same way. "I've had everyone working overtime to get the mission analyzed and every tidbit of data extracted. We've found a connection in Dorne, I'm pulling agent Snow from the North to send him there, but I'm giving you 24 hours head start."

"I'm retired," Jaime insists. 

"Yes, and the day I believe you intend to stay at home and cry for your wife instead of going out there to avenge her, is the day I retire as well." Jaime chokes on the word wife. _She wasn't_. They hadn't had time. Jaime has a ring hidden in his office, he was waiting for the perfect time to ask her. He waited too long. "You have quit," she points at the bruise on her face, "very publicly I have to add. You are in no way associated with the agency. Your passport will not be flagged, your credentials will not be blocked and your line of credit is intact _only_ because we're in the middle of a crisis and everyone believes is someone else's responsibility. That will be fixed in a few days."

Jaime nods and grabs the folder from where she's dropped it on the counter. He had already planned to use his access, or a few back doors he had installed on the system if his credentials were blocked, to get all that information, had planned to search the connection and investigate on his own. It will be easier this way. 

Most people forget he was a field agent before he was Quartermaster, and the ones who remember tend to forget he wasn't just any agent, he was the best, and his time away from the field has not dulled his instincts so much that he won't catch whoever is responsible for this. Whatever the cost.

"Are you getting her back?" he asks, not lifting his eyes from her picture in the dossier, Olenna's unsubtle reminder of why he's doing this. 

He puts the picture away, lest he breaks down again. 

"Yes. We'll hold on her funeral for as long as it takes you to complete this mission or die trying."

He nods, swallowing. She knows him, knows there is a high chance Jaime won't come back from this one and he's alright with it. It might even be what he wants.

"My cats?" They are the only thing he has left from Brienne, if he survives this, he'll come back to them. If he doesn't, he wants them cared for.

"We can't find your brother, it appears he decided to go on holiday at the worst possible time and is not reachable. I'll take care of them until we locate him." She approaches him and puts a hand on his arm, forcing him to look her in the eye. "You know I would have given the same order if it was Marg on the train and Brienne on the hills, don't you?" He nods, choked, he at least knows that much. "Try not to kill yourself during the mission. I know you think it would be a relief, but Brienne would hate to know you went on a suicide mission for her."

Jaime doesn't say anything, just stares at Olenna until she sighs and downs her coffee. 

She lets herself out as quietly as she came in.

Jaime finishes his own coffee and heads straight for the shower. He has work to do. 

…

The package Olenna gave him include flights to Dorne, passport, and credit cards all under the name of Jay Hill. He knows there will be a reservation in a hotel waiting for him as well. Olenna is nothing if not thorough.

Jay Hill is his one clean identity, the one only to be used as a last resort. He's burning all his bridges but he doesn't mind, he has nothing to come back for anyway. 

He reads all the information Olenna provided during the flight; the man on the train has been identified as Jon Connington, a member of the Golden Company and a Targaryen loyalist. He seems to have been responsible for a few hits some years ago but disappeared before he could be brought to justice. It looks like Connington's being funded by Doran Martell. The Martells have been pushing for Dorne's independence from the crown for generations, but have never moved openly against them, not in this fashion. Them funding a terrorist organization like the one led by Connington wouldn't surprise anyone, but Doran is not sloppy or he wouldn't be the head of the Dornish people, it should be more difficult than this to trace this back to him. 

Something doesn't add up, even if Jaime doesn't believe Doran is the one behind all this, it's a connection to investigate. If someone is shifting the blame to the Martell, there has to be a thread somewhere for Jaime to pull.

Out of habit, Jaime taps his earbud to open the communication line. "Lannister here, I need some background on--" he stops himself mid-sentence, closing his eyes and swallowing dryly. There's nobody on the other side of the comm. Even if he wasn't on an unsanctioned mission with no support, this is the one he used to talk to Brienne, which he has grabbed before leaving his house as a reflex, not really thinking that it's useless now. 

He's about to take it off and throw it to the floor, maybe stomp on it for good measure, but he can't. He's used to its shape and weight in his ear, and taking it off feels strange. He feels untethered without it, like finally acknowledging he will never hear her voice on the other side of the line again. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, careful not to be overheard by anyone else in the flight. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you, I'm sorry I couldn't save you this time."

There is nothing on the other side, not even static since their equipment is too good for it, he's completely alone. 

With a sigh, Jaime taps the earbud off and closes his eyes to try and sleep for a few minutes at least. He doesn't know what time it is, it could be early in the morning or it could be late in the evening, and he does not care. It's not been a day without her and it's already the longest day he's ever endured, each minute feels like an hour and each hour like a whole year, exhaustion and sorrow dragging him down, weighting his shoulders and filling his head with white noise.

He wonders when the grief and pain will give way to anger. He welcomes it, needs anger and fury and vengeance fueling him or he fears he'll shatter to pieces in the middle of the mission. Fears that he will lay down and let himself die like he tried to when he lost his hand. 

Then, he had Brienne spurring him on to take vengeance on the ones who maimed him. 

He had not liked her at that time, had considered her little more than an annoyance, a too eager trainee who had stumbled onto his investigation by mistake and had got herself, and him, captured with her carelessness. And yet, when the men had tried to take her away he had fought them off, first with his fists and once they had beaten him and taken his hand from him, he'd used his mind and cunning spinning a lie which had saved her from rape, though he had been unable to save himself from their brutality. 

He had wanted to regret it, saving a virtual stranger at such a high cost. But he never had. Not really. 

"Jaime, what are you doing?" Brienne had asked him while they languished in the room where the Bloody Mummers had them imprisoned. 

"Dying," he had said because it had felt like the thing to do. He had just lost his hand and with it his job and identity, and everything else he had in his life. What else could he do if not die?

"You can't die here, you have to stop these monsters." She had sounded so sure of him, even then. Jaime knows now she had been terrified, that only the fact that Jaime was close to slipping away from her had given her the strength she needed to hold them both.

"How am I supposed to do that, wench?" He had laughed then, brokenly and unamused. "There is nothing I can do anymore, they've crippled me. I'll die if it pleases me."

"Coward." She had called him and it had shocked him so much he had to prove her wrong. She had shocked him into life. He'd lived because of her, though she always denied it when he said that. And after that, he _thrived_ because of her. 

Meeting Brienne is the best thing that happened to Jaime. He has never been as settled in his skin as he's been since they came back from the Riverlands, even with a hand missing. He's never been as happy as he's been since she came back from the Wall after Jaime made a tit of himself in his jealousy and finally pushed them together. 

Losing her--he doesn't know how he's going to live after this.

_Coward_. He hears in his head, her voice echoing in his memories. _Coward_.

He taps the earbud again, this time fully aware of what he's doing, but needing that connection to her. Even if it's just in his mind. 

"I'm not dying this time either, Wench. At least not until I have taken my revenge for you. _I swear_."

…

The blond woman doesn't die on the way back to land. She doesn't die when Gynaris puts her in her car and drives to her small village, the rough stitches she has used to close her wound holding well enough for now.

She had considered taking the woman to a hospital, but they are expensive in the city and she doesn't know whether the woman will be able to afford it once she's back on her feet. Gynaris has also heard bad things about contacting the Swords since most of them work for the Sealord and are corrupt, with this woman having a bullet wound the hospital would feel obligated to report her to the Swords. 

In the end, she just drives to her village, hoping the woman will be strong enough to survive the trip, and once there goes to Nykol's clinic to fetch him, he's the closest thing they have in their village to a doctor. He's a veterinarian, but for this Gynaris imagines he will do. 

He also owes Gynaris a few favours, and somehow she's feeling protective of this huge woman who she has fished out of the river. She wants her to live.

The woman has barely stirred in the past few hours, doing little more than moan, sometimes mumbling in that garbled language the Westerosi call common tongue and that is only common to them. Gynaris touches the woman's forehead, frowning at the temperature she can feel there. 

"There is nothing else I can do for her," Nykol says after he has extracted the bullet, cleaned and re-stitched the wound and poured some concoction down her throat. She's connected to an IV with fluids and antibiotics, though they don't have plasma to replace the blood that she's lost. It will have to be enough. "She will live or she will die, it's up the God of Death now."

Somehow Gynaris is sure the God of Death will not be coming for this one. 

Not yet.

…


	3. Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For JB Week day four, fall/change

Jaime has always hated Dornish weather; it's hot and humid, the punishing sun beating down on him. It makes him feel like he's inside an oven. Around him, people are clad in soft silks and linen, the women wearing as little as they can get away with, the men stripped down to their shirtsleeves but still clinging to an outdated sense of propriety or wearing as little as the women and in the gaudiest fabrics and colours, there seems to be no middle ground.

He's gone straight to his hotel to change his clothes into more weather appropriate ones he has purchased at the airport. The suitcase he packed before coming contains very little in the way of clothing, there wasn't much space left after stuffing it with surveillance and gun prototypes. He picks the necessary equipment and heads to the address marked in the file for a known associate of Connington.

Harry Strickland might have been a strong and handsome man at some point in his life, but those days are long gone. The man Jaime's looking at from his vantage point in the bar's terrace is balding and has gone to seed, the clothes he's wearing are too tight in the middle and more appropriate for someone at least a decade his junior. Jaime observes him while he works, tending the bar and flirting badly with customers. He doesn't look dangerous for an ex-terrorist, and the file said he used to be in charge of negotiation and finance, terrorism must pay well because when the Golden Company disappeared he had enough money left over to buy this quaint place. It's also a good front to do business, the illegal kind, in the two hours he's been sitting there Jaime has identified at least one drug dealer and another person on some sort of shady business. 

When he has all he needs, he pays his bill and leaves the bar. He has an address for Strickland in the dossier, and he heads straight there. There are a few security measures in the apartment Strickland owes, enough to dissuade small-time criminals or warn him if he's about to get a visit he doesn't want, but easy for Jaime to take care of. He gets in and makes himself comfortable, getting out a few things he's going to need to persuade Strickland, in case he's not feeling very talkative. 

Jaime looks at his tools and swallows down the nausea that comes up; he really hopes Strickland cooperates, he hates torture, has always hated it. Brienne hated it even more; she used to say it was only to be used as a last resort.

"If we have to hurt people to stop the bad guys, how are we different from them? They also believe themselves righteous in their ways and hurt us to complete their mission," she argued with Olenna once after she had had to resort to those methods. "To them the bad guys is us." 

That was before they were together, it had been the first time she asked Jaime if she could stay at his place, not wanting to be alone with her nightmares.

Jaime clicks the earbud on, something he has noticed himself doing on and off during the day. "I'm very sorry for what I might need to do, Wench," he says. "I know how much you hated it, I promise I will give him every chance to avoid it."

It takes Strickland a couple of hours to get home, Jaime has been looking around the apartment to see if he could find something incriminating, though he knew it was futile. One doesn't get to successfully retire from a career in terrorism by being careless. Jaime's sitting on a chair in the kitchen, the living room couch too tempting for someone on caffeine, grief and just a couple of hours of sleep, when he arrives.

"Welcome home, Harry," he says, his gun pointed straight at the man. Strickland does a double-take and takes a small step back. Jaime tuts at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, I am a very good shot and you don't look like you can outrun a bullet."

Strickland nods and steps in, his hand going to a panel on the wall. 

"Don't bother, I've disabled all your alarms," Jaime says, and he gestures with his gun for Strickland to join him in the kitchen. "You don't need to say anything for now. I know who you are, Harry Strickland, formerly of the Golden Company. I know you play at respectability nowadays, and yet your establishment sees quite a few of shady deals. You have changed from terrorist accountant to a fence for all kinds of criminals." 

That's what Jaime has seen and what has convinced him to come here instead of following the instructions on Olenna's package which pointed him in the direction of Arianne Martell, Doran's daughter. Let Snow follow that lead and see if it pans out, but Jaime's instinct tells him Doran's involvement is either a red herring or an obvious bait. Strickland's name had been included just as a reference since he was a known associate but had left The Golden Company when it went to ground and established himself above board.

"I'm not here for that, though," he continues as Strickland sits in front of him, eyes wide and scared as he takes in all the implements Jaime has laid out on his kitchen table.

"Are you going to torture me?" Strickland asks, and he aims for defiant but misses by a mile, his voice trembling, his face completely drained of colour. 

"That's going to depend on you," Jaime says sincerely. "I want Jon Connington, he's the person I want dead. You, I don't care about, you can keep being a fence for all the small criminals in Dorne for all I care as long as you give me Connington and whoever is funding him."

"I don't--" he begins, but stops himself when Jaime grabs one of the scalpels on the table and stabs it through his hand, hard. The scalpel is sharp enough it takes a moment for the body to register what has happened, and when it does Strickland doesn't scream, he just chokes on thin air and whimpers, tears of pain running down his face.

"As I was saying," Jaime continues calmly, his voice and expression completely reasonable as he hasn't just stabbed a man. "It's up to you. But you should know, because of Connington I lost someone I loved very, very much, and I'm angry. I'm angry with him, but if you keep him from me, I will become angry with you."

…

Jaime holds it until he's back in the hotel.

He goes straight into his bathroom and empties his stomach in the toilet bowl, and from there goes straight into the shower, though there is no blood to wash on him. Not anymore. He's not sloppy enough to walk outside on blood-stained clothes and hands. 

He still feels unclean. 

The conversation with Strickland has not been a long one or a pleasant one for either of them. Strickland has acquired a few more scars and won't be showing his face in his bar for some time, but he's alive. Jaime has also acquired a few more scars, though his are not visible, but he knows now where Connington is going to be in two days. 

"_I tried_ Wench, I really did," he says once he has scrubbed himself raw in the shower, not feeling much better but unable to stand the scalding water anymore. "I gave him as many chances to talk as I've ever given anyone." He goes to the bar and pours himself a healthy measure of whiskey. He needs all the help he can get to sleep tonight, though he can anticipate it won't be enough. "Don't think this is your fault, this was my choice. You changed me for the better, it's not on you that I'm changing again."

He downs the glass and lies on the bed, closing his eyes. In his mind, he can see her frowning at him, that disapproving line in the middle of her forehead he would try to provoke with childish antics until she looked more like an angry schoolteacher than an international spy. 

There will be no kissing her into laughter again, not tickling that elusive spot on her right side that always made her react with violence for a second before she stopped herself, ashamed of her reaction. The Brienne in his mind can keep her annoyance with him while he tortures and murders his way to the one responsible for her death. Jaime wipes at his eyes angrily and stands from the bed, restless, to pour himself another glass and verify the information he's got from Strickland. 

He needs to be in Tyrosh in two days. 

He sends a quick text from a burner phone and starts making plans. 

…

Tyrosh is as colourful and chaotic as he remembers, the people dressed in shades as bright as their hairs, the bars and clubs of the city always full of people and life. Jaime's not going to one of the bars, though, the information he got from Strickland point him to an unassuming building in the middle of the commercial district. 

He waits in the building in front, laying down on his stomach on the roof and waiting for Connington to appear. It's hard to believe that the disk is also here, and the exchange hasn't taken place yet. He clearly remembers them thinking it was going to happen in the train, and if they were wrong and Brienne died for nothing, Jaime will never forgive Olenna or himself. 

Chances are this is a trap, but traps are also useful if one knows how to spring them. 

"We're close, Wench," he says, softly. He's been speaking to Brienne, to the one in his memories, on and off for the past couple of days, telling her everything he has always wanted to say but for some reason kept to himself. Now he has no such restraint, and if the weight of the earbud gives him the illusion that somewhere she can hear him, that's between him and the Stranger. "Why did we never come to Tyrosh? Oh yes, you were allergic to fun and worked too much. We should have come, I would have loved to see you with one of their silk dresses and with pink hair. Or maybe blue, to match your eyes."

He looks through his scope as a middle-aged man with bright blue hair approaches the building. According to the description he has, it's Connington. He has dyed his hair blue to blend in but it's him, Jaime follows his progress inside the building until he goes to one of the offices. He sits there to wait, rambling for a while. 

After half an hour he starts getting nervous. Connington has not moved from his chair, but it's more than that, he hasn't moved a muscle at all. 

Suddenly gripped with a very bad feeling, Jaime puts aways his equipment and runs to the office building. He gets in with no problem, sure sign that something is not right. Even this late in the evening there should be guards doing their rounds in this kind of building. He finds one with a precise stab wound in the chest as he runs up the stairs, dropped in a landing out of sight from the outside but thrown carelessly there, dead probably on the same spot he saw the intruder. 

When Jaime gets to the room where Connington is, he already knows he's been had. 

"_Fuck_!" Connington is dead, his lips almost as blue as his hair, his face a rictus of pain with red eyes. Jaime doesn't need to get any close to him to know he's been poisoned. "I fucked up, Brienne. I lost Connington. I failed you, again."

There is only one other place for Jaime to go now, though he doesn't believe he'd have any luck there. One of the clubs Connington was said to frequent is owed by the Archon, whose daughter spent some time in Dorne and was friends with Arianne Martell. It's grasping at straws, but with Connington dead is the only thing Jaime can do. 

The place is almost full when he arrives, a younger crowd than he is used to, and too rowdy for the kind of mood he's in right now. If nothing else, he might decide to start a fight just to burn some of his frustration, but for now, he orders a drink and takes a seat on the only free table. 

The woman who brings it is the closest person to his age, a beautiful woman with dark hair and skin who gives him an obvious once over. Jaime smiles at her politely but with disinterest and she moves away with a shrug, her lips curled in a secretive smile. There is something familiar about her, something niggling at his mind. 

He keeps his eyes on her while he sips his drink, the woman approaches a man and when he turns to look at him Jaime realizes how much he has fucked up. He had been right all along, Doran Martell wasn't the one behind all this, it was his brother. What Jaime can't understand is his motive, but he guesses he'll find out soon unless he can get away from this place. He tries to stand, his body refusing to do anything but a little shuffle, the glass he was drinking from falling from his hand. 

"I'm so sorry Brienne," he mumbles while the man approaches him, a wide smile on his handsome face. "I'll see you very soon."

"Jaime Lannister," Oberyn Martell says. "I wasn't expecting _you_."

… 

Gynaris looks in on the blonde woman every day when she gets back home after work, her mind not completely in her task during the day. Her son has been complaining that their catch is thin because's Gynaris's mind has been away, back at the village. 

It might be that he's right, but there is nothing she can do about it. 

There's an old saying that when you save someone's life, you become responsible for it. And Gynaris feels responsible for the blonde woman. She hasn't regained consciousness, but her fever has abated and her wound is much better. Nykol has been caring for her while Gynaris is away, she will have to give him something to show her thanks.

"Jaime," the woman mumbles, followed by more words in the common tongue Grynaris can't understand. "Jaime, no!"

She has been calling that name, because that much Gynaris understands, almost non stop. At some points it feels like she's having conversations, her words spaced with the cadence of one responding to someone talking to them but there is nobody else in the room and she has never opened her eyes. 

Not until now. 

"_Jaime_!"

Gynaris looks in on her at the shout, the louder she's heard in the past two days and sees two bright blue eyes staring back at her. 

...


	4. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For JB Week day 5 prompt Cold

It takes Brienne some time to understand what's happened to her and where she is, but once she does the panic sets in.

She wakes up in a strange room, all-white walls and small windows and a too-small bed. She feels too hot, feverish, and her entire chest is a mass of pain, her breathing too shallow and weak. She stays still for a moment, taking calm breaths and wondering how she ended up here and where here is. She has no recent memories that would account for the pain in her chest and the IV connected to her arm, so Brienne keeps her breathing as even as possible, casting her mind about for a reason why she's here.

She hears Jaime's voice in her ear, where it belongs, but his tone is not one she recognizes. She should, but the closest she has heard him sound like that was when they were in the Riverlands and he gave in to his despair. "I tried, Wench, I really did," he says, "I gave him as many chances to talk as I've ever given anyone."

"Who?" she answers out loud, her voice rough and scratchy on her throat. "What are you talking about? Where are you?"

Jaime continues as if she hasn't spoken at all. "Don't think this is your fault, this was my choice. You changed me for the better, it's not on you that I'm changing again."

"Jaime, what are you talking about, I don't--" she remembers then, the disk, the train, the fight. The gunshot. She shots up and he world explodes in pain, dragging her back down before she can do anything. 

The next time Brienne regains consciousness is because she's hearing Jaime speak once more. She's not as disoriented as before, knows she has been severely injured and how. She doesn't know where she is, except that wherever it is they can't mean her any harm since she hasn't been restrained and her wound is healing nicely, her fever completely gone, but since she's not in medical Brienne assumes they don't know she's alive. Jaime doesn't know she's alive, then, though she's been hearing Jaime's voice on and off for some time, she has heard it as if in a dream, but he's been there with her all along. 

"I'm so sorry, Brienne. I'll see you soon," Jaime says in her ear. There is something in his voice that makes all alarm bells ring in her head. 

She knows that tone and knows what he means by it. "Jaime!" she calls for him but there is no response from her comm. 

She tries to sit up, a lot more careful than the previous time, and sees a woman staring at her from the doorway. She looks to be in her fifties and has a kindly but weathered face, stockily built and dressed in the braavosi style. That answers the first of Brienne's questions, she's still in Braavos. 

"You're awake," the woman says in braavosi. "Are you in pain? Can you understand me?"

"Yes," Brienne croaks, throat dry and voice scratchy from disuse. She's glad that she has some knowledge of the language. "Water?" she asks and the woman nods and moves away from the door. Brienne takes the chance to click her earbud. "Jaime!" she says in as loud a whisper as she dares. There is no response. She clicks it again to try and change the frequency. "Hello. This is Brienne Tarth, anyone copy?" Nothing. Only silence on the other side of the line. 

She takes her earbud off to examine it as the woman comes back with a glass of water. Brienne drinks it gratefully, feeling it soothe her. "Who are you?" The woman asks. "Are you a guard? Is that why they shot you?"

"My name is Brienne, I'm a Guard in Westeros," she says in her heavily accented braavosi, using the closest word to policeman they have. "Who are you? How long I've been here?"

The woman nods and approaches the bed and starts rummaging in the set of drawers next to it, when she turns back to Brienne she has some clothes in her hand which she hands her. "Try this, it should fit." Brienne does, grateful to drop the sheet that was the only thing covering her. "I'm Gynaris, I found you in the river and fished you out five days ago. You were almost dead but Nykol, our vet, fixed you. I didn't take you to the hospital because they'd call the Swords." 

_Five days_. She has been dead to her people for five days. She doesn't want to think about what that means for Jaime and the things she has heard him say. Brienne feels the fear like a cold vice around her heart, turning her blood into ice and making her shiver in spite of the heat of the place.

"Thank you," she says, and she really means it. The logical thing would have been to turn a wounded person to the authorities, but the Swords of Braavos are famous for being corrupted. "You saved me. I need to--" her stomach decides to make itself known that moment. 

"You need food. You can explain later." Gynaris leaves the room and Brienne turns her earbud in her hand, clicking it again and again nervously. 

They are supposed to be waterproof but she doesn't know how long she was in the water, or whether her frequency has been disconnected from headquarters. She knows the channel she uses to speak to Jaime when she's away is an unofficial one, one he set up for the two of them that is not monitored after the last time Bran interrupted a private conversation. She puts the earbud on and tries it again, wondering why there is no answer when Jaime was speaking to her a few minutes before. She clicks to change frequency, her panic mounting when there is no response in either of them.

Brienne pulls the IV from her arm and tries to stand, her legs almost immediately giving under her. She locks her knees and holds onto the drawers and the bed, and manages to keep herself from falling. She takes a tentative step in the direction Gynaris left, then another. Each step feels like running a marathon and she has to hold on to the walls of the corridor until she's in a small living room. There's a battered up couch dominating the room and Brienne makes it there before her legs give. Gynaris turns to look at her from the kitchen with pursed lips. "Don't move, you are not well yet."

"I need to call home," she says. 

Gynaris nods and hands her a mobile phone before returning to the kitchen, Brienne could have kissed her. She dials the emergency number by memory. "Westerosi Exports," a soft masculine voice says, "how can I help you?"

"This is Agent Brienne Tarth, verification code Alpha-Tango-Sierra-Alpha-235978-Golf, requesting immediate evacuation. Switch on my comms channel and ping my location. And patch me through to Lady Olenna. _Immediately_."

…

Headquarters is a mess when Brienne arrives. 

Everyone has been pulling double shifts recalling agents from their current undercover missions, all while dealing with their grief at the loss of two agents and the resignation of their Quartermaster. There are many red eyes and pale faces, most of the Quartermaster section has deep bruises under their eyes and vibrate with what are obvious caffeine overdoses. 

Pod is the one who greets her when her helicopter lands, from the moment she spoke to Lady O to the moment she got an airlift less than three hours had passed and another three on the flight. Gynaris had fed her and helped her wash, and then had Nykol have a last look at her wound, much as Brienne insisted it wasn't necessary. Brienne will make sure the woman's generosity and kindness don't go unrewarded. 

She has tried to contact Jaime several times during the flight, to no result each time, and her nerves are frayed. 

"Hi Pod," she says and awkwardly accepts his hug. "Have you located Jaime yet?" she asks once they are away from the rotor blades and getting inside the building. They walk towards medical, the heads of every person inside turning to watch her progress. She guesses coming back from the dead have made her an instant celebrity in the SIS, but she much prefers it when people ignore her.

"We are trying but the last communication we had from him said he was going to Tyrosh," Pod says, rushing a bit after her to make up for his shorter strides. 

Brienne is still feeling a bit weak and like she could sleep for an age, but there is a sense of urgency under her skin, the fact that it's been hours since she heard Jaime's voice and there has been no response to her calls giving her a sense of foreboding. They arrive in medical and there is Lady O, looking like she has aged ten years in the last few days, dark circles under her eyes and a fading bruise on her face. Brienne has the feeling she knows where it came from. 

"Courtesy of the brat, of course," she says when she notices Brienne's look. "I'm lucky he used the flesh hand."

They go to one of the examination rooms and Brienne hops on the stretcher. The room feels a bit cramped with all of them there, especially once the doctor joins them and starts examining Brienne. "Where is he?" Brienne asks. 

"I sent him to follow the connection we found in Dorne, but he went off-script in less than a day and went to Tyrosh," Lady O says, and she sounds frustrated and concerned as well, making Brienne's fears increase. "We have just received notice they have found the body of Jon Connington in an office building in Tyrosh, poisoned, he's been dead for about six hours, we have to assume that's how long Jaime's been out of contact.?"

Brienne nods and takes out her earbud, handing it to Pod very reluctantly. It feels like her last connection to Jaime, and she feels more naked without it than without her clothes. "He made that for us, it's paired with the one he has. It has an encrypted private channel for the two of us." Brienne would have been blushing if she could spare any feelings for embarrassment. "Can you track his one once you find the frequency it uses?" Pod nods, taking it and leaving in a hurry, "He found whoever is responsible, that's the last I know. He said _I'll see you soon_."

"We'll find him, I'm sure he's still alive."

Brienne wishes she could be so sure. "How do you know?"

Lady O's expression is grim when she answers. "Because I think I know who's behind it now, and he's never killed quickly."

…

Jaime opens his eyes in the darkness. He's cold and stiff, lying on the ground somewhere with his head about to explode. He grits his teeth and looks around, but there is not much light to tell him where he might be. He can touch soft wet earth under him, and his clothes are damp from laying there, the cold seeping into his bones. He feels like he's never going to be warm again. 

They definitely are not in Dorne or Tyrosh anymore.

He wants to hit himself for fucking up so badly. Jaime has known he his head wasn't fully in the game, his exhaustion and grief blunting his edge, but he hadn't expected to mess up this much. 

He's had all the pieces and yet he had not assembled the puzzle until it was too late. Of course, Doran was a red herring, he had been right on that. He had just been an idiot and forgotten about Oberyn, there hadn't been a lot of information about him in the dossier, nothing but a mention of his name and his lover's and some old photographs. He wonders whether there is someone inside who has kept their names out in purpose. There is nothing he can do now but wait for his captor to come back. 

He doesn't have to wait long, a door on one side of whatever room he's in, a basement it feels like, opens and two big men come in and drag him out. He's still feeling uncoordinated and sluggish, his impromptu drugged nap not enough to catch him up on the sleep he's missed these past days.

There isn't much to see around them as they take him to his destination, just rough stone walls and packed dirt floors, water seeping down the old stones and making the place feel humid and colder than it should. He stumbles along, held between them, until they get to a big room with some sparse furniture and a few monitors and computers. There, sitting on a chair with Ellaria perched on his lap is Oberyn Martell, and he smiles his most charming smile when he sees Jaime. With a gesture, he has his men tie him to a chair. 

"Jaime Lannister, I should have expected if anyone would follow me to Tyrosh, it would be you," Oberyn says with a predatory smile. " You were always her favourite and I can see why."

Jaime frowns at him. "You have me at a disadvantage I'm afraid," he says, knowing he has to keep this man talking. He has no guns and no backup, and it would be so easy for Oberyn to kill him, but if he keeps him talking he might figure something out. As long as he's alive he has a chance, and he might have set out with no real intention to come back, but he's not dying without taking this asshole with him. "You seem to know everything about me, and I don't know much about you."

"Don't you know who I am?" he asks, and his smile is gleeful. "So the old bat finally sealed my file. Too little too late. I was you, before. And same as you, Olenna Tyrell caused the death of someone I loved very much. I had a sister, Elia, the gentlest and most beautiful soul in this terrible world, and she died because Olenna got careless."

Jaime feels the words like a punch to the gut. "It wasn't Olenna who killed Brienne." It was this asshole, regardless of who pulled the trigger.

"Wasn't she?" Oberyn seems to know too much, and it makes Jaime go cold with dread. "She definitely got Elia killed; we had a hack before, you know? It was before your time and only a few files got out. Mine was one of them, but Olenna didn't pull me from my mission or send protection to my sister. I didn't find out until much later." Oberyn is not smiling anymore, he's staring at Jaime with a hatred that seems too great to be contained. "Elia's blood is in her hands, the same as your Brienne's." He gestures to one of the men who have dragged him in and sees them position a camera pointing at him. Torture it is then. He doesn't have it in him to be surprised. "I'm taking everything she loves from her. Her agency will crumble once I release the contents of the disk, and she always had a soft spot for you, even before she recruited you." He looks at the other men. "Make sure not to hit anything critical, this one has been courting death for days and we don't want to give him the satisfaction too quickly, then send the recording to her."

He and Ellaria stand up and leave the room, and Jaime just has the time to brace himself before the first hit lands, biting down on a groan. He's determined to keep silenmt for as long as he can. 

"Hey Wench, I'm still here," he taps his earbud the moment they bring him back to the basement room, glad that they had not tied his hands or taken his comms from him. It felt like an oversight they have not removed his earbud before, but now he guesses Oberyn has allowed it because he gets off in pain and hopes Olenna is listening to his torture. He's going to be very disappointed to find out nobody is. "I don't know for how long, though. I hope I'll see you very soon."

There is a noise on the other side of the line and Jaime startles. "_Jaime_!" the voice he had not believed he'd get to hear again says and Jaime shudders, wondering whether he's hallucinating or dreaming. "Jaime I'm coming, hold on, I'm coming."

...


	5. Together in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late. For JB Week day 6, prompt together in the dark.

Jaime lays down on the packed earth, mindful of all his new wounds and aches, a smile on his lips face that refuses to go away. He doesn't even care if it's not real if it's a hallucination or a dream from one of Oberyn's goons hitting him hard enough in the head. 

It's Brienne's voice in his ear and it sounds real enough to him.

"Hey wench, I've missed you." He hopes she can hear the smile in his voice. 

When she replies, she sounds choked. "I have missed you too."

"We'll be together again soon," he says, he doesn't think Oberyn has any use for him aside from punching dummy and to make Olenna suffer. "I'm tired, I want to rest. I want to see you.."

"I know, but I want you to hold on." Jaime doesn't like how sad and afraid she sounds, and he likes what she's saying even less. "For me. You will see me if you hold on."

"_You died_." Just saying those words out loud is enough to make nausea rise in him and squeeze his heart. He doesn't like remembering it, though he had thought of little else since then.

"I didn't. I know you saw it, but I'm alive, Jaime. This is real, and you have to keep yourself alive for a while longer. Please, _for me_." Brienne sounds terrified and panicked and that is what makes Jaime believe it might be real. He would never imagine her sounding like that, not Brienne, not his wench. His wench is always strong and capable and fearless, even when faced with death.

"This is real," he opens his eyes in the dark room. "How? I saw you being shot, I saw you fall from that train." He can't understand.

"I survived, I don't know how, but I did." He has so many questions and wants to say so many things to her, even said some of them when he was talking to her ghost. But mostly he wants to see her and touch her, and reassure himself she's really alive because he won't fully believe it until then.

"You can't die again, wench," he says softly. "Promise you won't die again on me, I don't like the person I become when you die."

There's a choked noise on her side of the line. "I will try not to, as long as you promise me to stay alive."

"I'll try," he mumbles. His eyes close, and Jaime slips out of consciousness until she calls his name again, almost a shout, shrill and panicked.

"Hey, don't do that," she says, "talk to me, we haven't spoken in so long." 

"I was speaking to you all the time, you never replied."

"I wasn't conscious, Jaime, and my comm was broken, I've been trying to talk to you since I woke. Pod fixed it for me."

Good old Pod, he will make sure to give the boy a raise if he makes it back. "Wait," he says, suddenly realizing something. "Brienne, were you listening in just now?" The silence on the other side of the line is the only answer he needs. "Damn it! I'm so sorry."

"You're alive, I'm alive and on the way to retrieve you. Everything else, we'll deal with it as it comes."

He looks forward to it.

…

Brienne doesn't think she's been so furious in her entire life. She can feel it in her veins, in the tips of her fingers and in her very bones. She can see it reflected in every face in the room. She's ready to kill Oberyn Martell for what he's done, to Jaime and to all of them.

Pod has come back after Brienne's been released, against medical advise, and is planning the retrieval mission with Lady O and Margaery, who insists on going with them. 

"I not sitting this one out, not after I shot you," she says, her face hard. "I owe them."

Brienne nods, because she does as well. And she intends to pay them back for the pain caused to her and Jaime. They have some more agents in the brief, all of them itching at the chance to get back their Quartermaster and to hurt the ones who attacked them.

"I got his location in Dragosntone, there is nothing on that pile of rock but an old castle that's been in ruins for centuries, but the satellites have picked up some activity recently," Pod brings visuals to the main screens in the meeting room. "I've fixed your earbud," he hands it to Brienne who puts it one immediately, relieved to feel its weight in place again. "I've also hooked up the channel to our general comms for monitoring."

Brienne feels a prickle of unease but before she can tell Pod to route it only to her earbud, Lady O speaks.

"Connect it, please Pod, I want to let the brat know we're coming," she says, and Pod types a few commands on the tablet in his hand. The room's speakers come to life with a soft crackle, then there's a sound Brienne has heard before and would have loved to never hear again in her life.

Lady O's eyes snap up to her, widening at the moans and groans of pain and bitten off screams of someone trying nor to respond to torture. 

"Cut the feed!" Brienne shouts and Pod fumbles for a moment with his tablet, startled, before there is blessed silence in the room. Brienne breathes in relief. "Patch him through to my comm, and only mine."

"Brienne--"

"Do it."

She spends the rest of the meeting listening to Jaime, all eyes on her regarding her with sympathy. She hates to hear this and knows that Jaime will hate that she's had to, but needs to know he's still alive, and even when it's in pain, there is relief in hearing his voice. She notes what she needs to do and after the meeting is adjourned, gets suited up and grabs her weapons. She makes a point to go to medical for some stims so she doesn't fall asleep in the middle of the missions, much to the doctor's disapproval. Then she joins the rest of the agents coming with in the helicopter, her fist clenched by her side. 

"Are you ok?" Marg asks before they get on the plane. 

"I will be."

She doesn't say anything until Jaime falls silent over the comms and then he talks to her, saying goodbye to her, always saying goodbye, and Brienne has had enough. She clicks her earbud on to speak to him, to let him know they are on the way.

Brienne spends the entire flight to Dragonstone talking to Jaime, trying to keep him from falling asleep. She doesn't want to think how small and exhausted his voice sounds, how he's slurring some of his words and how Jaime will fall silent for minutes at a time, only snapping back to reality when Brienne shouts at him. 

She knows she shouldn't be in this mission; she's injured and the only thing keeping her upright at the moment are the dugs she bullied the doctor into giving her. Once she crashes she's going to spend some quality time in one of the beds in medical. She doesn't care as long as Jaime is in the bed next to her. She's also compromised beyond belief, Brienne knows she can make a mistake, but she isn't going to let anyone else lead Jaime's rescue.

"We are in sight of Dragonstone," the pilot says, "ETA ten minutes. Get ready to jump."

Brienne gets all the equipment ready, next to her all agents are doing the same. She looks at Marg, who looks grimly determined while she double and triple checks her equipment. "Jaime, we're almost here. Just a bit longer. I'm going silent now."

"See you on the other side, wench."

… 

The make land on the north side of the island, where the cliffs are unforgiving and any misstep carries the promise of a painful watery death. It was determined the ideal point of entry because it was likely not to be guarded, and from there they slowly advance towards the old castle ruins. 

According to the satellite data they have, the ruins are open and appear empty, except for a few rooms down at the back, leading to the old dungeon, where there is some machinery pulling power from a generator. That's more than likely where they'll find Oberyn and his people, which they also don't know the numbers they will face. Jaime had not seen more than the two who beat him up, and the satellite has only picked up the six patrolling the outside of the ruins, but anyone inside is invisible to them. 

Brienne is running point, with Marg following right behind her and Erryk and Arryk, Left and Right as Lady O calls them when she's annoyed, on their flanks and Grey Wind bringing up the rear. It's a well-balanced team, and they advance silently, carefully, until they get close enough to the castle. 

The first sentries are dispatched quickly and effectively by Erryk and Arryk, moving in that eerily coordinated way of them. "Erryk and Arryk, you take care of the rest of the perimeter guards," Brienne says, her voice little more than a whisper. The twins give a curt nod. "Grey Worm, secure the communications room and give access to the computers, if you can, to Bran. You should have the USB with the necessary programs." He nods, patting one of his pockets once. "We need to locate the stolen data and find out what they've done with it. Marg, with me, we need to find Martell and Sand, they are our primary objective." 

They all open their comms channel and go in different directions, Marg walking stealthily alongside Brienne. In spite of the end of their last mission together, Brienne likes Margaery; she's quick on the uptake, doesn't baulk at taking orders from Brienne as the most experienced of the two, and she _is_ a crack shot. Brienne has seen her scores, and they are impressive. Shooting Brienne had been unfortunate, especially for Brienne, but she doesn't blame Marg. She's glad to have her by her side to rescue Jaime. 

The inside of the castle is the ruin the outside promises, big chunks of rock lying everywhere, edges smoothed by the elements, nothing but dirt and rock and in the middle, barely visible but there, a small path of packed earth obviously trodden frequently. They follow it, slowly, mindful of the fact they don't know how many people are inside. 

"All perimeter guards have been neutralized," Erryk, or Arryk, says. "Going in."

"Copy that," Brienne says. "Assist Grey Worm."

They continue their advance, moving inside and down, towards the dungeons. Here there are more walls standing, and also more signs of life. Brienne can see tracks on the packed earth, and even the butt of cigarette or two where someone has carelessly put them out. She sees the first of Oberyn's men turning a corner and immediately fall to the ground with a gunshot through their head, Marg's gun already in her hand. 

That's when the element of surprise ends, an alarm sounding from a room to their right, further inside the structure. "I found the comms room, heavily guarded, no sign of Martell or Sand. Requesting immediate backup," Grey Worm says in their comm. 

"The twins are heading your way," Brienne says. "Please confirm when you've secured the room."

"Copy."

They find a couple more men in their advance down the castle, Brienne has to wonder where did Oberyn recruit so many people and how he did it without raising any flags. They have surveillance for threats like this for a reason, it's either an oversight on their part or Oberyn has had assistance from the inside, rendering him invisible. This is a disturbing thought, but something tells Brienne is the right one. 

There are sounds of gunshots from the direction where the comms room is, and Brienne is torn between rendering assistance to his team and continuing down to search for Jaime. The decision is taken from her hands when the line opens again, except instead of Grey Worm, is Jaime's voice on the other side.

"They're here," he says, "Oberyn's here."

There's the sound of a scuffle while Brienne runs ahead, throwing caution to the wind, and then nothing. "Jaime!" she shouts, "Jaime!" but there is no answer, the comm is dead.

She rushes past doors which lead nowhere and people either already dead or dying, Marg's steps falling behind her unable to match her stride and desperation, until she locates a door with steps going down. She runs down, stumbling in the almost darkness and not falling only because the Stranger wills it.

She hears the sound of a struggle when she reaches the landing and sees in the dim light how a man, who has to be Oberyn Martell, is dragging a resisting Jaime down the passage, towards what has to be an exit to the cliffs. He sees her and suddenly there is a gun pointing to Jaime's head, both of them freezing in place. 

"You must be Brienne, not as dead as we had assumed," Oberyn says, his voice a tight coil of rage, his eyes hard and cold.

Jaime's eyes are fixed on her, wide and as beautiful as she remembers. "Hey, wench," he says, sounding happy in spite of having a gun pressed against his head. "Good to know I wasn't imagining it after all."

"Let him go," Brienne says, looking back at Oberyn, her hand itching to go to her gun. She can't, though, the moment she makes any movement Oberyn will shoot, she knows that in her bones.

"I don't think so," Oberyn says, shaking his head, he starts to move backwards. "I think I'll join my beloved in our boat and then throw his carcass to the sea. I had wanted to play a bit more with him and all of you, but I'll be satisfied with this."

Brienne looks at Jaime, who has not even blinked since she arrived, his smile not faltering either at Oberyn's words. He gives her a tiny nod. 

"_Marg, take the shot_."

...


	6. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit late, but for the last day of JB Week, prompt Hope

Jaime knows Brienne has arrived the moment Oberyn opens the door, even in the dim light it's easy to see the rage and hatred in his expression and in makes Jaime's smile widen. 

He taps the earbud to warn Brienne; it would be too wasteful for him to die now that his wench is so close. Oberyn approaches him in two strides, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him to his feet. He struggles, trying to release himself from his grip, but even if Jaime wasn't as battered as he is, Oberyn's fueled by anger and has Jaime against a wall in a second, holding his twisting body up with a forearm to his throat, his other hand searching for the earbud until it finds it and drops it to the ground, crushing it with his boot. 

"I should have killed you in Tyrosh," he snarls to Jaime's face, and he presses both hands against his throat, strangling him. 

Jaime struggles, trying to throw Oberyn off him to no avail. He can feel his head swimming, the lack of oxygen blurring the edges of the world. 

"My love, someone's coming," Ellaria says from the door. "Kill him later, now he's more useful as a shield."

Oberyn squeezes harder for a second as if the mere suggestion has infuriated him, and then releases him and starts dragging him along. "Get the boat ready," he says. "We'll be there in a moment." 

Jaime does the only thing he can do to make it harder for him, he drops his entire weight on Oberyn, going limp and unresisting as Oberyn curses and painfully digs his fingers in Jaime's neck and arm. Jaime is no lightweight, even in his condition. 

They're slowly advancing down the corridor when Brienne is suddenly there. She looks terrible, pale and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes and the twist to her mouth which means she's in pain and trying to hide it. She's favouring her right side, to compensate for her wound, and there is a fine tremor in her limbs that signal the overuse of stims. She should be in medical, not here saving Jaime's ass, but he's delighted to see her.

She's alive and the best thing Jaime has ever seen. That's all he cares about, not the gun pressed against his head, not the words they are exchanging, just Brienne in front of him, her beautiful eyes so alive and shining with fury. 

He has never loved her more.

He knows his wench, knows that she's just stalling Oberyn to allow for someone else to arrive, he even has a feeling he knows who it's going to be. Jaime gives her a tiny nod. He's on board with it. 

"Marg, take the shot," Brienne says, her eyes never leaving Jaime. 

He hears the gunshot, incredibly loud in the enclosed space, and feels Oberyn jerk at his back right before he falls to the ground, taking Jaime with him. Then Brienne is there, pulling Jaime away and holding him against her chest as Margaery runs down the path, disappearing from view in a second. 

Brienne's hands are gentle but insistent touching everywhere they can reach, mapping all his injuries as if she could heal him just by touch. Jaime doesn't trace hers; he will later once they are away from this place, but for now, he just presses his good hand against her cheek, enjoying the warmth and the fluttering of her eyelashes as she bends down to kiss him. 

It can't be a pleasant experience, not with the blood in his mouth and the time he has spent here without a toothbrush, Brienne's mouth is equally as stale and yet it's the only thing he wants right now. He could kiss her, his hand on her face, for hours. 

They pull apart when they hear steps on the corridor, Marg appearing by their side. "She escaped," she says, grimly. They all know what that means, Ellaria Sand wasn't just arm candy to Oberyn Martell, and they have some daughters together. They will have to keep looking over their shoulder until she's found. "Grey Worm has found the data, we're calling for extraction."

Brienne nods. "Thanks, Marg, we'll be along in a minute." she leaves them there and Brienne takes the time to look Jaime over. "Can you stand?"

"With your help." She pulls him to his feet and holds him against her body with her arm around his waist, their progress up the stairs slow and painful. When they reach the top, Jaime is panting, holding to consciousness by a thread. "Where's the plane landing?" he asks, looking around but unable to see anything but fallen rocks and half tumbled walls. 

"Close, why?"

"You're going to have to carry me." He gives her a half-smile at the same time his eyes close. 

…

Jaime wakes up and for a moment he has no idea what time it is, of which day, or what the fuck he's done during his mission to end up in medical. Again. He can't feel anything from the neck down, which means he has to be on the good cocktail. He only gets the good cocktail when he's been close to death; Olenna is going to have his guts for garters for this one. 

Memory trickles in then, making his blood run cold and he tries to sit up. 

"Lay back down before you rupture something new," Olenna says, her voice low, as if trying no to wake up someone. "Turn your head to the right."

Jaime does, and there on the bed next to his is Brienne, fast asleep under white sheets that do nothing for her pale complexion. Here, in the light, he can see her properly and she looks worse than he had imagined. The dark circles under her eyes look deep purple and her skin is not so much pale as ashy, even in sleep she looks exhausted, curled on herself in the small bed. He looks at her chest rising and falling regularly in the calming pattern of sleep, and matches his breathing to hers. "Stims crash?" he asks, keeping his own voice also low enough not to wake her.

"And a gunshot to her chest," Olenna says, dry as Dornish desert. Jaime turns to look at her, she also looks terrible, aged and tired, but she's sitting ramrod straight on the chair. "And yet, she was in better condition than you. You had a concussion, several broken ribs and internal bleeding. They worked you over well, those beasts."

There is no reason to lie, even if he would have preferred for her and Brienne not to know. "Yes, the did." They stare at each other in silence, and Jaime has to smile. She's going to make him ask. "Was it true, about Elia? Did she die because you chose not to protect her?"

Olenna sighs, her hands pressed over her lap. She's nervous, he realizes. "It's worse than that," she finally admits. "Elia Martell died because I tried to protect her. As soon as I found the leak and that Oberyn had been compromised I sent an agent to protect her, Oberyn was in the middle of a critical mission so I sent who I believed was the best after him. Turns out he was easily bought, Clegane was the one who killed her." She looks old and sad and frail then, but Jaime can see the core of steel and the anger still in her. At herself, it seems this time. "I released Oberyn and sealed his file; nothing I could do would make up for my mistake and we both knew it."

"Why didn't his name come up on the dossier?" It had been one of the things that should have been most prominent, but he had been blindsided. 

"Tyrene, one of the new hires in research, turns out she's one of Oberyn's million daughters. The relationship didn't come up on the checks because she's a Sand, and there are millions of those. She's also the person who helped him hack our systems in the first place. She's already escaped, we've only found out a couple of hours ago."

Jaime swears long and colourfully, Ellaria Sand is also at large, and he knows she's going to want revenge.

"Don't worry about that now, we'll get them. Now, go back to sleep, you're going to have a few months rehab before you are fully functional. You have mandatory psych counselling, and so does Brienne. Don't try to dodge it this time or I'll ground the both of you, and keep your cats." He groans, he hates psych. Olenna is right, though, they are both due so much therapy after this mission. He closes his eyes and feels Olenna's hand smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Try to get some rest and listen to the doctors, ok brat? And don't scare us like that again."

He hums his assent and Olenna leaves. Before he can fall asleep again, he sits up on his bed and, very carefully, stands up. He can feel the pain of the broken ribs, taped but still very much not mended, and the other aches all over his body. He shuffles the couple of steps separating him from Brienne's bed, and drags his IV stand with him. Then he's in the bed, squeezing in the little space she has left while trying not to aggravate any injuries, his or hers. Even unconscious, she's attuned to him because she shuffles a bit with a little mutter and immediately throws one of her legs over his, burrowing as close as their condition allows. 

Jaime is back asleep in under ten seconds. 

…

Brienne wakes up feeling miles better than when she crashed down from the drugs. She has slept, has had a full course of antibiotics and painkillers and an IV stuck to her arm for who knows how long. She's also pressed against Jaime, both of them squished together in the tiny bed in an impossible tangle of limbs and IV cords. 

She smiles at him, pressing her face against his neck and breathing him in. They both definitely need a shower; she can smell the blood and dirt and sweat of the past days on him, but she doesn't mind. Not when his neck his so warm and she can feel his pulse on her lips and hear his breathing. Not when he's alive and in her arms. 

It's been too close this time; when he lost consciousness at the end of the mission, Brienne carried him to the plane, her own strength faltering already after putting her healing body through so much. There had been a doctor in the plane, and it had been him who noticed Jaime's injuries were more severe than previously thought, and who had quickly intervened. 

Brienne had lost consciousness then, as much as she had tried not to.

Now she wakes up in medical, an experience made so much better for being in Jaime's arms. 

She presses her lips to his neck, too tempted by the fluttering pulse there, and can feel the moment he wakes, how he tightens his arms around her. "Good morning, wench," he says, a smile in his voice. 

"Is it morning?"

There are no windows in medical, it can be the middle of the night for all they know. "It is for me." He bends his head to press a kiss to her hair, and when she moves a bit to look at him, he kisses her fully, his lips insistent and hungry over hers, needing the closeness to reassure each other that they are still here, still alive. 

"We definitely need a toothbrush," he says when they separate, and Brienne can't help herself, she starts laughing at this wonderful, ridiculous man.

The doctor finds them like that, still laughing in each other's arms, and looks disapproving but says nothing about their sleeping arrangements knowing it would be futile. 

"Now that you're both awake we'll take you for an examination."

They are whisked away by efficient and stern nurses before they can protest, and the next couple of hours are spent with people poking and prodding at her, making tutting noises at her condition, and finally, blessedly, submerging her in a bath. 

When she's wheeled back into their room she's feeling a lot more human and also exhausted. Jaime's already in the room, and the beds have been moved together, at his insistence if his smug smile is any indication. 

They are too wiped out to do more than curl into each other and enjoy a few lazy kisses before they are both asleep again. They wake at some indeterminate time later, it must be night now, real night, as the medical wing is silent in a way it never really is during the day. Brienne opens her eyes to see Jaime already looking at her, his eyes glittering in the semi-darkness. 

"She called you my wife," he says, as if they were in the middle of a conversation. Brienne frowns, puzzled. "Olenna, when she came to give me the mission. She said I wasn't the type to stay home mourning my wife when I should be out there taking revenge, and the only thing I could think about was that you weren't." Suddenly Brienne can't breathe. She knows where he's going with this, and she's been waiting for it for a while, but of course, Jaime will find the least romantic way to propose. At least they have been cleaned. "And you weren't because I have been an idiot, waiting for the perfect moment to propose."

She laughs. "So you've decided to do it now?"

"Yes, we're alive and we're together, I don't have the ring with me and I can barely move without wincing, there will be no celebratory sex because it might finally kill us, or the doctors will do it if they find us, but I know I want to marry you, and see your face every day for the rest of our lives, however long or short they might be. I want to wake up to you and your our crazy cats, and go to sleep with you snoring in my ear, whether you're home with me or not, and I want to hear you screaming out my name in extasy or in rage, depending on how much I've annoyed you that day. I want that the next time someone refers to you as my wife is because it's the truth." 

Brienne is laughing too hard at his proposal and the unreality of the situation to give him a response, so she just kisses his smiling mouth. "Of course I'll marry you." There was never another answer to the question. 

Though he has not asked. Not quite, but it will do.

"I have one condition, though," she says, breathless, after Jaime has kissed her thoroughly enough she might be considering aggravating their injuries. "No more suicide missions."

Jaime nods. "Fair enough, then no more dying on the job. Actually, no more dying, period."

Brienne sighs. "You know I can't promise that."

"And you know if you're not here to stop me, who will?"

They stare at each other for a minute, neither of them backing down until Brienne finally snorts at the silliness of the situation. They are spies, the only certain thing about their job is they might die any day, any moment, and they both know it. 

"_We need so much therapy_," she says, burrowing closer to him. It's the truth; she doesn't think she'll be ready to let Jaime out of her sight for quite some time, or he would be able to let her, and the first thing he's going to do once they're out of medical is making them new earbuds, better ones, and then there's going to be both their rehab and psych and time to requalify. It's not going to be easy, but that is a problem for tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Now, she has him pressed against her, they're warm and soft and just got engaged. She has everything she needs. "Mr Lannister."

"_I know_, Ms Lannister."

She feels a frisson of excitement at the name and smiles against his skin. She likes the sound of that.

...

**Author's Note:**

> Perceived Character Death. Suicidal ideation. Graphic descriptions of violence. Torture. Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Grief/mourning.


End file.
